Cookies
by Jhiz
Summary: A little story in honor of National Cookie Baking Day. Takes place post-BTVS series and after The Girl in Question for Angel but before WR&H goes boom. Although Spike does not actually appear, he is a key character in this little play.


"Buffy, what are you doing?" Andrew asked as he slid open the pocket door that separated the small kitchen in the Slayer's flat from the tiny living room in her London home. The young man had simply opened the door to the apartment when no one had answered his attempts at ringing the doorbell. The young man suspected the bell was not working at all. In response to the unexpected question, the diminutive blonde turned her head with a perplexed expression on her face. The young woman was not expecting guests. She frowned. At least, she didn't think she was supposed to be expecting them. She knew she didn't desire one.

"Andrew?" she voiced skeptically. Absently, the young woman pressed another raisin into the chest of the small, man-shaped cookie on her tray of partially decorated treats. With a frown of confusion still marked clearly on her face, Buffy failed to pursue the conversation. Instead, she turned back to her task. It was easier that way. Perhaps if she ignored her uninvited invader then he might go away. It worked for other people and that was how the Slayer preferred it to be. Disregarding her guest, Buffy selected two blue sprinkles and pressed them onto the face of the cookie then followed it with a tiny red jimmy to replicate a mouth.

The young man glanced around the small, cluttered kitchen. At least three batches of cookies were cooling on the limited counter space in the room. The area carried the perfume of chocolate, ginger, vanilla and cinnamon. When the timer buzzed like an assaulting bug, Buffy stood and moved towards the oven. She flicked off the obnoxious attack then shoved her hand into a ratty snowman potholder. After opening the oven door, the young woman pulled a tray of nicely baked gingerbread men from the heat. She closed the door and set the tray on the space over the sink. It was the only truly free area in the room. She mindlessly tossed the protective yet out of season snowman back onto the stove top.

Almost mechanically, Buffy turned back to the pile of half finished treats on the table. She grabbed a tiny shaker of red Christmas sprinkles and liberally shook the decorating sugar over the remaining unfinished selections before turning and placing the entire tray in the oven. The young woman reset the timer and then moved to the other side of the two person table that dominated the small space in the kitchen. Andrew watched as Buffy rolled the last portion of cookie dough into a flat semi-circle. Swiftly, the Slayer utilized a gingerbread girl cookie cutter to shape the remaining mixture into cookies.

Buffy moved back around the table and used a spatula to remove the cookies she recently retrieved from the oven and placed them on the available space on her cooling rack. She then proceeded to place the newly cut girl-shaped cookies on her emptied tray. Still without acknowledging her unexpected guest, Buffy sat at the table and started to decorate the girl cookies. Green sparkles for eyes, red jimmies for mouths, raisins or chocolate chips for decorations on the dresses, and yellow jimmies for hair found their way onto the girl cookies. Like the last batch, the young woman individually decorated half the cookies before the timer assaulted the air once more. Repeating the process of removal, haphazard decorating of the naked treats, and placing of the final batch of cookies in the oven, Buffy finally turned to her guest. She frowned.

"When did you get here, Andrew?" she questioned flatly.

Grinning madly, Andrew met the gaze of the blonde Slayer that he idolized as the perfect heroine. His smile lost some of its luster though as he read the lack of spark in his companion's eyes. He shrugged nervously.

"Not long at all," he offered hopefully. It never hurt to keep the Slayer from knowing he had been watching her a while. It seemed to bother most people when he was in observation mode and Buffy was more inclined to lash out at him than some of the others he annoyed.

Buffy nodded and absently turned from her visitor. Without comment, she moved back across the small space. She removed the cooled cookies from the metal mesh tray and placed them in a large pile on the counter. After shifting the other tray of gingerbread men onto the cooling rack, she proceeded to start to wash dishes. Measuring cups, measuring spoons, and mixing bowls moved from counter, to sink, to drying rack.

"Is it National Cookie Baking Day or something?" Andrew asked as he picked up a tea towel. Without being asked, he started drying the cleaned baking implements.

Buffy shook her head. "Nope, that's December 18th."

"National Cookie Day?"

Buffy again shook her head and handed him the last tray.

"Nah, that is December 4th."

Andrew frowned as he scrubbed the towel over the pooling moisture on the baking flat. It was May. For that matter, why did the Slayer know when National Cookie Day even was? It didn't seem like her kind of information. National Demon Extermination Day seemed more her style. Or perhaps Buy a Pair of Boots for Kicking Ass Day. Those holidays would have merit for her.

"So what's with all the cookies?"

Buffy just shrugged before moving towards the table with her damp washrag. The Slayer wasn't remotely interested in explaining her actions to Andrew. Over the last few months, she had actually stopped offering explanations to anyone about her actions. If she was questioned, she would just stare at the inquisitor with either a hostile or blank expression. It had worked wonders. Most everyone had stopped seeking her input. Unfortunately, Andrew had never been too perceptive at subtle overtures.

Continuing to ignore the uninvited invader, Buffy gathered all the cookie decorations and shoved them into her well stocked baking cupboard before returning to the table and wiping it free of flour and sugar residue. Andrew scrunched up his forehead with a frown when he noticed that the baking section was the only food cupboard that appeared to be well stocked. The Slayer had only a few cans of soup and boxes of macaroni and cheese on the other shelves. Everything else was aimed at baking. Unaware of her interloper's telling observation, Buffy continued her clean up process. She moved with a precision and grace that revealed an intimate familiarity with her current tasks.

Andrew watched in silence as the Slayer moved smoothly around the room returning things to their proper places. Baking ingredients went into upper cupboards. Bowls and baking tins went into lower cupboards. Utensils were tossed unceremoniously into a large drawer. Soon, all that remained of the cookie baking were the cookies themselves. They covered the counter space like happy dancing men and women and reminded Andrew of Christmas time as a child. His mother always baked gingerbread cookies for Tucker and him to enjoy. A mild pang of nostalgia tweaked at Andrew's mind as he thought about his family. He had not seen them in ages and he fleetingly wondered what they were doing. In fact, he even wondered where they were. The young man had never found out where his relatives had ended up after the destruction of Sunnydale. He made a mental note to search for their whereabouts when he returned home.

The blond geek was so distracted by the unexpected thoughts of his family, he missed the start of Buffy's next action. He came back to the present in time to see the blonde Slayer sweep an armful of cookies off the counter and into the trash can.

"BUFFY!" Andrew squawked as he reached for a cookie and snagged it from the counter before it joined its brethren in the waste bin. He held the slightly warm man-shaped cookie against his chest for a protective moment while he watched in horror as what he guessed was hours worth of baking tumbled into the trash.

"That isn't for you," Buffy stated firmly as she snatched back the lone cookie that had evaded being discarded. She crumbled the last sweet smelling gingerbread boy into tiny pieces and tossed the mess into the refuse pile.

Utterly confused, Andrew watched as the small blonde placed the lid back on the trash can and returned it to its rightful place along the wall. He continued to stare at the Slayer as she washed her hands and then silently left the kitchen. The interloper shook his head and followed the woman from the now darkened room. He stood silently along the wall as Buffy curled up on the corner of the somewhat ratty gray couch that took up almost half the space in the tiny living room. Andrew waited for over a minute but the Slayer never said a word to him. She didn't even look at him. She just pulled a fuzzy red blanket off the back of the couch and settled it over her legs. Her fingers teased and fidgeted along the frayed edge of the cover in a repeating pattern that revealed the reason for the slow destruction of the edge of the material.

Andrew glanced around the room uncomfortably. There was nothing of note in the space. An ax hung on the wall near the door but that appeared to be the only decoration and the young Council member realized it was there for function not appearance. Like the couch, the weapon was there because it might be needed. Once more, Andrew frowned as he took in the boring space. The distinct lack of anything was actually a glaring point of interest which stabbed at the young man. His own apartment was overflowing with all sorts of knickknacks and signs of habitation. Dirty dishes and forgotten socks hid in corners along with dropped popcorn from movie nights with his two housemates. Buffy's apartment didn't even have a television let alone residue from a friendly movie night. This observation made the young man very uncomfortable. Andrew shifted nervously before finally finding his voice.

"How long have you lived here, Buffy?" he questioned even though Wells was pretty sure that he already knew the answer. Buffy had taken the position of resident Slayer for London about a week before he had accepted his current assignment to Italy. Andrew had been in Rome for about nine months. The previously evil geek had been thrilled when Giles had offered him what might have been the most important mission outside of the actual running of the new Watcher's Council. The new head of the Council had requested that the young man accompany Dawn Summers and a Slayer named Mia Peters to the main satellite headquarters for Central Europe. What made the position so very important was that Mia was not only acting the part of head Slayer for the region but she was also acting the part of THE SLAYER, in other words, Buffy Summers.

Buffy just stared at Andrew with an obvious combination of annoyance and boredom in her posture and expression.

Nervously, Andrew found himself at a loss. He had come here with a purpose but now seemed unsure of how to approach the so unapproachable Slayer glaring at him. He was treading on very thin ice. He knew good guys were supposed to honor their word and he had made a promise. He didn't want to mess up but he also wanted to fulfill his desire to support true love. Andrew groaned softly. Uncomfortable with joining Buffy on the couch, the young man sat on the only remaining option. Perched on the sturdy wooden weapon's chest that was acting as a coffee table in front of the couch, Andrew tried to engage Buffy again.

"We had an unexpected visit last week," he offered. Like a good minion, Andrew had followed his orders and done everything in his power to keep the two visitors from actually meeting with the magically disguised Mia. Giles had tasked him with keeping anyone who might recognize the Council's ruse from getting too close to the truth. The secret had to be maintained; it was his primary purpose in Rome. Andrew figured that Angel or Spike would have noticed the Council's play. Discovery could lead to seriously tragic ends. At the same time, guilt over his actions pricked at the young man's slowly re-developing conscious.

Buffy canted her head slightly and raised an eyebrow in a manner that conveyed how utterly unimpressed she was with the information about the unexpected visitors in Rome.

"Um, yeah..." he stammered in response to the thinly veiled displeasure directed towards him. Andrew shifted nervously. "I thought you might want to know about it."

Buffy just shrugged.

"I'm not in charge of this dog and pony show," Buffy stated evenly. Her tone lacked any of the deep seated anger and disgust that still hid in the depths of her feelings towards the folks who were currently managing the Council. "You're living with the new me. Let her deal with your visitor. Either that or tell Giles. Let him manage it. He is good with that. The whole managing thing. I am sure he can tell Mia just what to do and how to do it and she will comply."

Andrew drew back slightly.

"Buffy, Mia is only doing what needs done. She's a good slayer."

"I'm sure she is," Buffy stated evenly without a trace of rancor. The Slayer truly did not begrudge Mia her position as counterfeit head Slayer. She was welcome to the position with the Council as well as the unenviable job of guardian to Dawn Summers. Buffy wanted neither spot. She didn't mind the loss of her leadership reins. She didn't miss the stress of caring for a backstabbing, unappreciative fake sister. She didn't even blink at the thought that her double was frolicking very publicly with the morally ambiguous Immortal. According to her previous friends, that was the best way to cement Mia's position as Buffy Summers. That was her reputation after all. She had affairs with semi-evil undead. The comment had just rolled over her without leaving a scratch. The real Buffy just didn't care any more.

Silence loomed in the dimly lit room with a faint taste of doom in its shadow. It was uncomfortable and choking. It finally forced the more easily excited person into speaking again.

"Don't you want to know about the visit?" Andrew prodded.

Buffy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Not really."

"But, you're THE SLAYER," Andrew whined slightly. "You need to know that..."

"WRONG!" shouted Buffy as she interrupted Andrew's speech. It was the most passion she had displayed in months. She jumped up from the couch and stormed around the make-shift coffee table. The Slayer set to pacing in the tiny confined space. Back and forth she traveled across the tiny flat with almost visible vibrations of agitation shimmering off her body.

Andrew attempted to shrink himself as small as possible as he snapped his mouth shut tightly and warily watched the barely contained fury pulsing in waves off the blonde stalking around the room like a caged panther. The geek barely resisted whimpering in fear and he cast a longing glance towards the door. Despite being less than ten feet from his body, the exit seemed miles away.

"I AM NOT THE SLAYER!" Buffy stormed as she flung her arms wide then pounded on her chest. The volume of her voice lowered in a manner that was somehow even more menacing than her screaming had been. "I am a slayer. One part of an army."

"But..." Andrew attempted to whisper but he fell instantly silent under the fierce gaze that Buffy leveled at him. Once again, he snapped his jaw closed and slumped smaller. Wells shuddered to think that he and Warren and Jonathan had ever even considered themselves an equal to the power of the woman before him. They could never have been worthy adversaries. They were childish fools and they had been lucky to never actually face this particular rendition of the Slayer.

Truth be told, Andrew had met hundreds of slayers in the past year but none of them could come close to the power housed in the woman standing before him. He swallowed his fear and squirmed in his seat.

Buffy's eyes narrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line that obliterated any softness in her face.

"I am not in charge. I don't make the decisions any more. I take care of my part of the world. I patrol. I kill demons. I dust vamps. I report anything unusual to the Council. I do my duty. I am not THE anything."

Andrew attempted to swallow past the dry lump that was forming in his throat. He wasn't sure if it was induced by fear or pain. It was a toss up. The blond geek had never been more afraid of Buffy than at this moment. At the same time, he couldn't help but feel the waves of frustration and hurt that lay underneath all the shimmering rage.

"The Council needed a figurehead," the young man intoned in a voice he hoped was soothing. "You were the beacon of light required to unite the old and the new."

Buffy stopped moving and closed her eyes. She was no beacon of light; she was nothing but a black hole that sucked life into its dead center. Death was her gift. She gave it away all the time. Normally it was at the end of a carved stake, sometimes it was under the swing of an ax, occasionally it was at the end of a sword, and once, the one time it most counted, it was with a gaudy piece of jewelry and empty words. The Slayer took a deep breath. When she once more opened her eyes, the passion and fire had leaked from her eyes. In its place, the flat, blank affect from earlier remained.

"I had nothing more to give, Andrew. All along, I was a weapon. A tool to be used as needed. I was delusional to think otherwise. The original Council made no excuses for that belief. Pity it seemed that the ones in charge now ultimately had the same ideals. They might talk a good game but when push came to shove, it was their own feelings and expectations that counted. Their wants and needs were what mattered. Their lives and bodies were worth more than the mission. Their vision for how the battle was to be fought was the only acceptable choice. They just hid their expectations under the guise of friendship and family instead of the dictates of Council tradition. Its the way it is. I finally got it. I have a calling. A duty. Fine. I am a weapon that destroys evil. Here and now. I refuse to be more. I will never be more than a weapon for any of them."

Andrew's gut contracted at the venom in the last word she uttered. He shuddered and silently thanked whatever deity might be listening that he was not part of the THEM Buffy so virulently despised. At least, he didn't think he was. He knew for a fact that he wasn't at Revello Drive the night the good guys threw Buffy out of her own home. He wasn't part of the betrayal that had likely been the final nail in the coffin of the Slayer's feelings about those closest to her. He figured that was the point when Buffy had isolated herself from everyone else. Granted, she returned triumphant from her exile with the key to their victory in her grasp but no one had ever seemed to acknowledge how wrong their behavior had been towards their leader. They had just stepped aside and allowed her to lead them to victory once again. No one had ever tried to heal the gaping wound and Andrew suspected the self-righteous idiots never even thought they needed to admit the wrongness of their gross disloyalty and emotional assault.

"I am so sorry, Buffy," Andrew started as he stood with an earnestly contrite expression evident on his face. He paused and his lower lip quivered ever so slightly. The sensitive young man might not have been involved in the mutiny but he at least realized how terrible it must have hurt the Slayer. Spending months alone in a self-imposed exile from everyone who had hurt her could only have compounded the emotional toll. "If you don't want me to be part of the charade in Rome, I will request a reassignment."

"I..." Andrew stuttered slightly. "I would never want to purposefully hurt you ever again. I was wrong to be led astray by the seductive powers of evil. You were... you were a true hero. You are a true hero. Like a modern day King Arthur. Pulling Excalibur free from the stone despite the doubts of your naysayers. You were that hero with the vision for a better future for all."

A soft smile skirted over Buffy's lips. She shook her head and asked Andrew to be quiet. When the young man still seemed inclined to ramble, the Slayer capitulated.

"Fine, fine," she conceded. "I'll agree to the modern King Arthur. At least he's a literary dude and not some sci-fi pilot or time traveling doctor."

Buffy snorted slightly at the horrified expression that flashed across her guest's face at her derisive dismissal of some of his other glorified but fictional heroes. She shrugged in response and continued.

"You at least hit the mark with the story-line. After assembling his round-table-y knights, its the ones closest to him that betrayed Arthur."

Now it was Buffy who had a flash of hurt wash over her face. Unlike Andrew though, she quickly shoved the pain into submission. With almost half a lifetime of practice, the Slayer locked away the distress and buried it under a cold and sharply honed facade. Gone was the pained woman. All that remained was the cold warrior.

Andrew watched the transformation and his heart ached. He stood and moved towards the Slayer.

"I really could request a transfer," he offered as he glanced around the tiny apartment that entailed the whole of the London Slayer headquarters. It needed more life in it than Buffy seemed able to provide. Her lack of interest was only compounding what he saw as a profound depression. She might not admit it, but Buffy needed people to care about her and for her to care about in return.

"I could be your Watcher," he offered hopefully.

Buffy shook her head.

"I don't need or want a Watcher," she replied firmly.

"But I could..."

"No, Andrew," Buffy interrupted as she stepped forward and gently touched his shoulder. "I just want to be left alone. You can't give me what I truly want, be what a truly need, and I would not want to drag you away from the good you are doing to molder here."

Buffy offered the geek a smile that was meant to be encouraging. It was a practiced expression that would never have fooled someone who truly knew her but she suspected that no one would ever again recognize it as such. In recent years, there had only been one person who had recognized the falseness of her facade and he was gone. The Slayer was not about to encourage anyone else to know her that well ever again.

"You are on a great quest to seek redemption," she stressed as she chose words she knew would appeal to the little geek with the overly grandiose mannerisms. "You can do that with your highly specialized mission in Rome better than any simple slaying support you would be here."

Andrew nodded and took a couple steps back from Buffy as he watched the tiny bit of animation leave her face once more. He sighed in frustration.

"Are you sure you don't want to hear about my unexpected visit?" he attempted one more time.

Buffy shook her head.

"Definitely no," she replied in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Okay," the blond replied in resignation. The pair stared at each other for a moment until Andrew finally lowered his gaze.

"I guess I should get back to my mission of redemption," he stated with a glance at his watch. It was little over two hours by air to get back home. "If I can get a quick return flight, I could be back on duty before Mia goes on patrol."

Buffy wished him a safe trip. Andrew thanked her then moved towards the door. His hand rested on the doorknob for a heartbeat before he turned back towards the Slayer.

"I think you need to go visit Los Angeles," Andrew announced evenly.

Buffy snorted.

"There is nothing in L.A. for me."

Andrew opened the door but paused in the doorway. He turned back to the Slayer and offered her an encouraging smile.

"You never know what you might find when you visit old friends," he offered softly. "It might be good for you, Buffy."

Having said as much as he could without breaking his promise, Andrew waved and slipped from the apartment. Buffy stared at the closed door for a few minutes. She really didn't understand why Andrew would come all this way just to say hello. She shook her head. He really was a confusing little geek sometimes and she just wasn't sure how to handle him. She didn't want to like him and she definitely refused to trust him. Unfortunately, the quirky little guy was growing on her. He might be a bit of an idiot but he seemed to mean well.

Buffy glanced around her dim and empty apartment. She sighed deeply. Maybe Andrew was right. She might need a break. There really was nothing pressing to keep her in London. It wasn't exactly a hot bed of demon activity and what little she could ferret out had been slayed ages ago. The young woman shook her head.

"Maybe I could stand to go visit California. Take a little vacation. Look up a few old friends," she voiced aloud to herself.

"Maybe I'll get lucky and catch some apocalypse action. It's May. Might not be on a Hellmouth but maybe they are still in season in L.A."

Decision made, Buffy moved towards the phone to see about securing a plane ticket. She wasn't exactly excited to be going but at least it was something to do. It beat spending days alone baking symbolic cookies no one was ever going to eat.


End file.
